


The Light of her Love

by FemslashTrash13



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: All about how much he loves Christine, Christine mention, Creative Writing Prompt, F/M, I cried writing this, I'm Sorry, In the catacombs, Internal Monologue, On the Run, One Shot, Turned into an, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6840235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FemslashTrash13/pseuds/FemslashTrash13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, the prompt was that the character had done something criminal, was on the run, and found themselves in an underground labyrinth. So of course, I thought of our Erik. But he knows the catacombs of the Opera so well.... Pain ensued</p>
<p>Thanks to http://8tracks.com/namelessjim/fear-can-turn-to-love by NamelessJim on 8tracks, it really helped me write this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light of her Love

Air whipped against Erik’s face, tears springing to his eyes from the assault on his deformity, his shame. Years with it almost never unprotected by a mask, and now, now, it was entirely exposed. Exposed to the elements, to the ridicule. Because of his Christine…

He should have been angry with her, had been, for her betrayal, but he understood now. He saw that he had gone the entirely wrong way to winning her love, that it had been his actions, not his face that had driven her away, that she had loved him in spite of his abhorrent face, the face not even a mother could love. 

In the back of his mind, he heard the rumble of the mob pursuing him, but he had no need to worry. He had occupied the tunnels beneath the Opera Populaire for nearly a decade, no one could navigate them as well. His mind was too filled with the way the night had ended to pay them any attention. His throat still ached with the urge to sing back to her, to answer his song, to call her back to him. But he had had to let her go. She may have forgiven him, for his past, for his crimes, for his face, but the rest of the world still detested him, and his Christine deserved the world, not to be hidden away, trapped in the dark with him.

He rounded yet another corner, taking the rough wood of the trap door in his hand, the rope ladder narrowly missing his head, leading him to the level just below the stage. This was where he had listened to rehearsals most days, and down this passage, he had first heard Christine. Just a young girl, crying evident in her voice, singing to chase the pain away, running to music to escape from the sorrow and loneliness. A soul who understood how he felt, and a voice that would take his music and breathe it to life, with his training. And all that had happened in the meantime… He touched his mouth, the memory of her lips, the ones that brought forth such beautiful sound into the world, had been on his not a half hour ago, and yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. Twice she had kissed him, and while the first had been filled with anger and betrayal and desperation, the second… the second had been filled with need, with trust, with love. 

His Christine, the only one who listened, who understood and touched his heart, loved him, and he had let her go. But as he slipped into the night of the Parisian streets, evading the the torches and hate, he made a promise to her in his head and sent it into the night. He would be a better man, a man deserving of her love.


End file.
